


‘til black and white begin to color in

by hardlygolden



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, POV Outsider, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-23
Updated: 2015-06-23
Packaged: 2018-04-05 19:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4192083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardlygolden/pseuds/hardlygolden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While in pursuit of a suspect, Jake Peralta finds himself face to face with Starling City’s very own Arrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	‘til black and white begin to color in

**Author's Note:**

  * For [htbthomas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/htbthomas/gifts).
  * Inspired by [i’ll gather up the avenues and leave them on your doorstep](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2156502) by [htbthomas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/htbthomas/pseuds/htbthomas). 



> I so enjoyed your original story - thanks for the opportunity to remix and reimagine this idea! 
> 
> Title from Manhattan by Sara Bareilles

Jake is already kicking himself once he’s run into that subway tunnel - has to resist the urge to check behind him, to make sure Amy hasn’t followed even though he knows she won’t - Amy Santiago is many things, up to and including much too sensible to run into a subway tunnel in pursuit of an armed perp while (...and this is the _important_ part) a train is about to come hurtling down this track approximately any minute now

He can hear her shouting in the distance - the sharp edge of alarm in her voice. He knows her well enough to know that a single moment of panic is all she’ll allow herself. She’s probably marching off now figuring out how to close off the tunnel or single-handedly shut down a train using only her police badge and the power of sheer stubbornness.

Amy had better hurry up. The walls of the tunnel are rattling, by now. 

If Boyle was here, Jake would probably make some quip, a quote from an action movie, but Boyle’s not here. There’s nobody here except Jake, and the thud of footsteps in the distance - the shadow of the perp disappearing around the next bend.

The train is getting closer. Jake should probably care about that more than he does.

He has to remind himself that he isn't still undercover, he isn't acting anymore - he is Jake Peralta and this is his real life and somewhere in the distance is a real train, bearing down on him.  

Just like that, the emergency lights along the sides of the tunnel flicker, dim, and then the power returns, at half strength. Wherever the train is, it’s stopped. Not for the first time, he’s thankful that Amy Santiago is a force of nature.

He keeps running.

*

Jake catches up to the perp - or, perhaps it’s more accurate to say that the perp catches up to him, because he’s waiting around the corner when Jake comes charging through, and they fall to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs until they’re grappling in earnest, scuffling and it's basically ridiculous until there’s a gun, and it’s levelled at Jake’s head.

Jake freezes - and looks up into a face he is shocked to recognise - a low level thug he’d come to know through his undercover work over the summer.

The other man recognises him too - takes in Jake’s uniform, and his lip curls in distaste. “You're a cop,” he spits, voice twisted like he's saying something filthier, and then the cold metal of the gun is pressed flush against Jake’s forehead. The metal is cold. 

For all the nightmares he’s had about this moment, the reality is actually easier to deal with - the world crystallises to what needs to happen now, in the next few seconds, and he’s braced ready to spring - nothing left to lose - except all of a sudden the pressure of the gun disappears from his forehead, a blur of motion.

 _Amy_ , he thinks, just as he opens his eyes and sees that it is not Amy - unless Amy has hulked out and turned into a seriously muscle-bound hero type, complete with a chiselled jaw and a too-small Mets cap jammed incongruously atop the face frowning down at him.

Jake blinks - reconciling what he sees with what must be the truth.

He wiggles his fingers, and then his toes. Yep. He's still alive. Mets Cap saved the day.

The perp is out cold at Jake’s feet, arms zip-tied together, and Jake doesn’t know how it all happened so quickly. He reassesses this guy - para-military? Special forces? They don’t teach you this in boy scouts, that’s for sure (at least Jake assumes - he didn’t last beyond the first camping trip. For all that ' _be prepared_ ' moralising, apparently the boy scout leader couldn’t live up to his own motto, when it came to anticipating what manner of pranks an eight-year old Jake Peralta was capable of).

“Are you okay?” Mets Cap asks, because Jake is still gaping at him. “Are you hurt?”

Jake swipes at his eyes with the back of his hand, acutely self-conscious.

“Sorry,” he finds himself saying, even though he doesn’t know what he’s apologising for, exactly. Sorry for being a total mess? Sorry for not being quick enough to save himself?

"Hey," says the stranger. He peers closer - “Seriously - are you okay?”

The stranger looks like he’s about to say something else, then cocks his head like he’s listening for something - and then he suddenly takes off at a run, moving on soundless feet. He discards the Mets cap he was wearing, throws it at Jake’s feet, and Jake picks it up for something to do with his hands, to stop them trembling.

Amy’s once-neat bun has been knocked askew by her frantic run through the tunnel, although she skids to a stop when she spots him and her expression changes, relief breaking like a sunrise.

He stutters out as much of an explanation as he can. He realises he’s still clutching the vigilante's Met’s cap in his hands, wringing it like a stress toy.

"Never do that to me again," she chides, as they’re walking back, propping up the unconscious perp between them.

"Aw, Santiago - were you worried about me?" As soon as he says it, he winces - it’s far more earnest than he means it to be.

Her forehead crinkles - in concern or annoyance, sometimes it's hard to tell. It’s probably both.

He didn't realise quite how much he missed this - being partners - knowing someone always had his back - until he experienced those months without it, where nobody was looking out for him. It makes him appreciate it more, now that he's back.

It makes him never want to leave again.

It makes him a better cop.

 _She_ makes him a better cop.

Not that he'd tell her that - at least, not to her face, but she's as sharp as they come - she'll figure it out, if she hasn't already.

 * 

Once the perp has been taken into custody, Jake and Amy head back to Junior’s to gather reports and check over the evidence - the precinct sent some of the team there earlier to get the process started, but Jake's never been one to step back from a case and after the scene in the tunnel he's itching to prove that there is more than one way to string up a suspect - with cable ties or a mounting pile of evidence, and the combination of the two is pretty hard to wriggle out of, no matter who you are or what sort of connections you have. 

Boyle has cornered a blonde woman by the counter - even from this distance, Jake can see him pointing at the dessert menu, can hear him enunciate ‘the best cheesecakes in New York,’ - and the blonde woman suddenly looks at him, recognition dawning. “I’ve read your blog!’ she exclaims. Boyle looks endearingly thrilled.

After they’ve finished interviewing the last witness, Amy is pulling on her coat, one foot out the door, and Jake is right behind her, when the manager comes bustling over. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I only just got here -”

Amy pauses at the door, her face sliding smoothly into an expression of polite efficiency - only someone who knew her well would be able to see how tired she really is.  

Jake winks at her, mouths _I’ve got this_ , forces himself to keep the smile on his face until a split-second after she looks away. 

The manager wipes his forehead with his hand - he must have run here, from wherever he was when he heard the news. “That’s alright. Your team have been really helpful,” Jake assures the manager. “It’s a shame that your security camera was wiped remotely, though."

The blonde woman standing in the doorway shifts restlessly on her feet, her attention drifting away from Boyle for a split second.

“Actually,” says the manager. He pauses, then coughs. “There’s another camera,” he says, in a voice he probably fondly imagines is a whisper. 

“Oh!” exclaims the blonde, suddenly, slapping her hand against her face. Everyone turns to look at her, and she blushes. “Sorry. I just remembered I need to send a really important email. For my boss. Can I borrow somebody’s phone? Mine was broken during the robbery.”

Ever the gentleman, Boyle is quick to hand over his phone.

There’s just a lone teenager on the register - a well-dressed business man is standing patiently in line, waiting to be served. The manager waves the employee aside, sends him to the kitchen on some pretext. “Apologies, sir,” he says. “Someone will be with you in a minute.”

The restaurant manager turns back to Jake. “The second camera’s here,” he says. “Over by the register.”

Jake can't resist asking the obvious question. “Why do you have a second camera?"

The manager has the grace to look a little embarrassed. “Well,” he says, “I thought one of the employees was swiping money from the register. I couldn’t exactly tell them I’d installed a second security system to watch them, could I?”

He unhooks the security camera from where it is hanging innocuously - a discreet pinhole, the size of a small button, tucked into the edge of a picture frame, the sort of thing you'd never spot unless you knew exactly where it was.

"Here," says the manager, opening a locked drawer and handing him a tablet screen. "This is the feed - it should show the past twelve hours."

Jake taps the screen, scrolls through the footage in fast forward. He sees people walk in - he recognises the blonde talking to Boyle, she walks in just before the robbery, accompanied by a man and they sit in a booth. He watches in fast motion as they bicker and banter, order two plates of cheesecake. Even without volume, in that tinny screen, their ease with each other is apparent. For some reason, he finds himself thinking of Amy - of how many times they've shared a meal together, both in a restaurant or just splitting a snack from the vending machine (which he still insists should be classed as a restaurant, as should anywhere you can order a three course meal). He wonders what people see, when they see he and Amy together. If they ever think they  _are_ together, the way this couple so obviously is. 

Jake can see the exact moment when the robbery begins - the thugs start waving a gun around, people duck for cover. One person - the guy with the blonde - runs towards the danger. It's a particular brand of heroic recklessness that Jake knows far too well. 

Jake squints at the still image frozen on screen - at the guy. Not just any guy - _the_ guy. The guy from the tunnel. Mr Mets Cap himself. 

He looks up, and stares - because _that same guy_ is standing across from him, in a business shirt. 

The blonde woman from Boyle’s cheesecake tutorial has moved next to the guy, furiously tapping away at her mobile phone.

“You a Mets fan?” Jake asks.

The guy meets his eyes with a level gaze. “Nope. Starling Rockets,” he drawls. His eyes are level with Jake’s, and he doesn’t look the least bit nervous. Jake is impressed. There’s assuming an identity, and then there’s becoming somebody else entirely.  “Go, Rockets,” the blonde enthuses, all the while barely looking up from her phone.

Beneath the jokes, Jake Peralta is all cop. He can’t tamper with evidence - but neither does he want to be part of handing over any evidence which could incriminate the guy that literally just saved his life less than an hour ago. He knows, in a way he'd never really understood before, how much it costs to maintain a cover like that. The reasons why and what you wouldn't do to keep it. 

Thankfully the decision is taken out of his hands - quite literally - as the footage he is holding suddenly freezes, the pixels erasing before his eyes - a red error message flashes up, and the display screen fades into a pinprick of light.

The blonde passes Boyle his phone back. "Thanks," she says. "I would've been in trouble with my boss if I'd missed that one. Sending that email, I mean."

"Sounds like your boss may have been in more trouble," returns Jake, because he never grew out of a tendency to poke things with a stick just to see what they'd do, what was underneath.

The man's face remains impassive, until the blonde's face twitches, the corners of her mouth dimpling into a half-smile, and something in his eyes, as he watches her, softens in a way that makes his entire face change. 

When Jake explains to the manager that the footage has been corrupted, the manager is most apologetic - and even more apologetic when his gaze falls upon Mr Mets Cap, who is still waiting patiently beside the counter to place his order. 

"I'll have what he's having," Jake announces grandly - at the same time as Mr Mets Cap's eyes drift over to the blonde, who is standing in the corner, shrugging on her coat as she chats with Terry. 

"I'd like all twelve cheesecakes, couriered to Starling City, please," announces Mr Mets Cap.

The manager's eyes virtually light up as if with cartoon dollar signs, and Jake hastily backpedals his own order. "No, I'm kidding, seriously, just the one cheesecake."

Jake leaves the restaurant five minutes later, cheesecake in hand. The fact that it happens to be Amy's favourite flavor is pure coincidence. 

When he returns to the office, he drops the cheesecake off into the fridge, and then drops his report around to Holt (who's not at his desk), via Gina (who is). Her feet are propped up on the table, as she flicks through a copy of US Weekly - which Jake neatly snags out of her hand because the face on the front cover is so familiar. He quickly skims the story, discarding most of it as obvious gossip - but he knows what he saw, and now he has a name to put to the face.

If Oliver Queen, billionaire playboy extraordinaire can juggle a personal life as well as a secret identity, maybe there's hope for Jake and Amy after all. 


End file.
